Trick or Tease?
by Myathewolfeh
Summary: Tensions have been high between France and England, as they always have been. So when America invites them both to a Halloween costume party, France has the perfect idea about how to end their fight for the better. One-shot lemon. A seasonal surprise for my readers.


**When France gets frisky and England gets naughty, smex is inevitable, especially with risqué costume choices. A little Halloween treat. Enjoy.**

Warning: Contains lemon, pirate!England, drinking, badmouthing, hatesex, hint to AmeRus and a little (okay, with France, let's just say _a lot_) of exhibitionism.

Disclaimer: Me no own Hetalia. I just make it more interesting.

* * *

**Trick or Tease?**

Arthur stomped into his hotel room and slammed the door, not caring if anyone complained. He threw his briefcase on the bed and sat on the mattress, punching one of the pillows.

"Stupid… fucking… France… bloody… slimy… frog… _damn_!"

Every time he hit the pillow, he wished it were the perverted bastard's face. He kept up until he was so tired, he collapsed on the bed, face in the now flattened pillow and sighed in frustration.

How long would he have to put up with this? The endless sexual passes in the meetings and every public place they happened to come across each other, the constant jibes and pranks, the frog's pretentious air and perverted mind. It was all so irritating and all Arthur wanted to do sometimes (well, _most _times) was to punch Francis in the face so that his nose would bleed for some reason other than lechery.

Sure, there had been some pantsing, some arse-grabbing here and there, but today, _today _was the final straw.

While Arthur was trying to present a new suggestion for the failing economy in the EU (which he had convinced himself to do despite Francis being one of the ones he would have to help—he was a gentleman after all) he opened the PowerPoint, only to find that someone had tampered with his laptop and had switched out his flashdrive with another. This contained increasingly lewd pictures—mostly of Arthur drunk—of the Brit doing things he normally wouldn't do when sober. All Arthur could do at the time was sit and stare and think in horror _Oh my God… is that me stripping on a table…? No, that can't possibly be me playing spin the bottle with my tongue down Prussia's throat… And is that me… wearing one of Japan's perverted anime dresses?!_

Eventually, he had gathered his mind enough to turn around and shout at the only person he knew would be low enough to do this… France. But the Frenchman just laughed that annoying laugh and flipped his hair, saying with a wink, "You look good, _Angleterre, non_?"

At this, Arthur marched over to Francis, ready to throttle him, when Alfred had grabbed him and brought him back to his senses with an anxious "Cool it, bro."

The Briton saw that there was nothing left for him to do or say, because if he did, they would remember what was on the slides and not take him seriously at all. So he stormed out of the room, upending a couple of chairs on his way out and tipping a flower pot so it smashed on the floor in his mildly-contained rage. And all the time he was thinking, _I will _never _drink again!_

Before Arthur knew it, he was on his plane out of Paris, so _fucking sick _of hearing all the French spoken as it only reminded him of the frog. The meeting was over… now he could finally go home and be at peace and not have to see Francis's stupid, leering face for a few more weeks.

Yes, that would be plenty of time to build up a proper grudge.

… And perhaps plan for vengeance.

When Arthur got home, he threw down his belongings, foregoing putting them away to rest on the couch and release some tension. It didn't last long, however, as his cellphone was ringing incessantly.

He sighed and pulled the phone out of his coat pocket and looked at the caller. Of course. He answered it with a sigh, "Yes, America, what do you want?"

"Dude! Finally, I thought you'd never answer your phone!"

"Well I did, now get on with it before I hang up. I'm not in the mood for meaningless chatter." And he especially wanted to add _Just like you did last time when you called me in the middle of the night complaining about nightmares after watching that scary movie I told you so imploringly not to watch. _But that would only prolong the conversation.

"Okay, so, I'm throwing this costume party over at my place Halloween night. I was just wondering if you'd like to come?" The question was more of a childish beg.

Arthur snorted. "America, you know I don't have the patience to deal with half the nations that will probably be there." Arthur didn't want to admit that the real reason he didn't want to go was because he had just been publicly humiliated.

"Aw, _pwease_, Awtie?" Alfred pouted. "It will be so fun."

"I said _no_, impudent whelp…"

"_Pweeeeaaaase?_"

"No, America!"

Alfred huffed on the other end of the phone, then said in a mischievous voice, "Well, I guess that means you want me to keep calling until you agree?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. There was not much the American could do by the way of persuasion, but Arthur knew he would certainly follow up on his promise. "All right, all right… I'll be there. When does it start?" He couldn't _believe_ he was agreeing to this…

Alfred gave a loud whoop on the other end that made Arthur move the phone away from his ear. "At nine. And don't be late!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and said, "When have you ever known me not to be?"

Alfred laughed and said his goodbyes, then said, "And bro?"

"_Yes_, America?"

"Be creative."

And the call was ended. Arthur's brow furrowed in puzzlement and he leaned back on the couch, thinking of what the American could possibly have meant by his last comment. Then, after a few minutes, he realized the meaning, and he got up, walking to his room and opening his closet. After a few moments of parting his clothes, he reached the very back where he kept various outdated fashions. He took a particular outfit out and examined it with a smirk. It was dusty, but he would touch it up.

"It's nice to see you again, old friend." Arthur chuckled.

* * *

It was exactly a half hour until the Halloween party and Francis was definitely excited. Well, 'excited' would be an understatement.

Laughing, he set his suitcase on his hotel room bed and opened it up. He rummaged through it a bit before finding what he would be wearing and holding it up.

Oh yes, this was perfect.

When Alfred had called about a costume party, Francis had immediately said yes. The truth was, he had something he had been wanting to test out for a while, something new, something sure to catch Arthur's attention. He knew he had gone too far when Arthur had nearly strangled him and fled the meeting room, and he felt a bit guilty about the whole thing (just a bit). He hadn't wanted to hurt his _Angleterre_, he just wanted to push Arthur's buttons, as it was so entertaining to watch. He guessed he'd pressed a rather sensitive one this time. But at the party—which Francis dearly hoped Arthur would be attending—things would change. Francis was through with bickering and joking… he decided it was high time to reconcile with his long-time enemy, and he knew the perfect way to do it.

Francis slipped on his costume, consorting the bathroom mirror to smooth out the ruffles, disappointed that it wasn't a full-body mirror. But, then again, he hardly needed a full-body mirror when wearing his costume.

Francis chuckled to himself and turned to look at himself from all angles, loving the way the costume hugged his body. "Mm, _oui_, _very _sexy." Francis laughed again and picked up his prop, throwing on a jacket—it _was _cold outside, after all, but he would have gladly worn nothing but the costume if it were warmer—and taking a taxi to Alfred's Buffalo(1) home. The driver looked him up and down, a suspicious look on his face, before the man shrugged and headed off to the the specified location.

Francis couldn't help but smile all the way there. If there was anything the Frenchman was sure of, it was that Arthur wouldn't be able to resist him—this time.

* * *

Arthur was confident when he walked out of his hotel room, but as soon as he was standing at Alfred's door, he was anxious. No one had seen him like this for a while, and perhaps it was a bit too much after all that had been revealed last meeting. He certainly didn't want to come across as being an attention-seeking whore like Francis. He eventually gathered his courage and rapped on the door.

A few moments later, Alfred opened it, smiling as thumping music poured out of the house, along with the noise of the other talking nations. The American—go figure—was dressed in a cowboy costume, complete with a hat, cow-print chaps, and a lasso strapped to his belt. "Heya, Igs! Nice to see you didn't chicken out on me at the last minute." Arthur frowned as Alfred looked him up and down. "Took my suggestion, eh? Good on ya. I'm sure everyone else will enjoy. Come in!"

Arthur's anxiety came back a bit with the mention of everyone enjoying his outfit, but he followed the American into the house. They turned into the living room where a number of other nations were milling around, drinks in hand, some with cameras (which worried him a tad). Making a flashy motion over to Arthur, Alfred said, "Hey, guys! Iggy's here!"

They all turned to look at him. A few of them whistled and clapped, while others let out a few catcalls. Instead of being meek, however, Arthur gained a great deal of confidence and stood with his chin held high and proud, looking over all of them with an air of arrogance he'd had countless times when he'd worn his pirate suit. He stepped up and said, "It be that me lily-white arse hasn' been dragged ta Davy Jones' Locker nor ain't it ever be gettin' it's way into the Fiddlers Green. Ye best be behavin' round me, lest I have mind to truss ye up and keelhaul yer scurvy arses 'low me furner. Ye've been warned, eh?" Arthur was a little rusty at pirate speak, but it gave him a huge influx of power.

They laughed and there was a unanimous, "Aye, Captain!" before they returned to their conversations.

"Good one, bro!" Alfred slapped him on the back and Antonio approached them. The Spaniard was garbed in a bright red—and very form-fitting—bull-fighter suit. He paused, turned around, and grabbed someone in the crowd and attempted to pull them along with him. Arthur knew he did this on purpose, because the Briton's eyes were immediately brought to his arse, which looked absolutely perfect and delicious in his tights. As always.

Eventually, Antonio turned around and was pulling Lovino along with him. Arthur was not only amazed that Alfred had actually convinced the temperamental nation to attend—which was a miracle in itself—but that all that Lovino appeared to be wearing was a white toga and belt, a laurel wreath encircling his head.

"Hey, _amigo_!" Antonio greeted with a smile. Lovino looked absolutely miffed. "I should have worn my pirate suit, eh?"

Arthur scoffed. "Not sure that I would be happy to see you with an axe again."

Antonio laughed then threw his arm around Lovino, pulling him close. "Roma is looking good too, no?"

Lovino shoved the man away. "You almost made me spill my wine, bastard."

"Oh, yeah, bro, I forgot." Alfred said, motioning across the room. "I got a hella lot of booze, and I can't possibly finish it myself. Ya better go and have some."

Arthur looked at him. "Is there rum?"

Alfred laughed. "You betcha, bro. Go at it."

Arthur made his way through the crowd and poured himself a glass, surveying all who had attended the party.

Feliciano, who had managed to nab his brother from Antonio, was talking animatedly to him with outlandish hand gestures, the older Italian looking as pissed as ever as he continued to sip his wine. Feliciano was also wearing a toga… though it looked to be more of a feminine stola than its more masculine version. Ludwig had obviously decided not to go out on a limb and risk looking ridiculous, so he was wearing an old military uniform. It seemed that the Nazi insignia had been replaced with his flag-probably a very wise move on his part. Gilbert had dressed similarly, but his military costume leaned more to regimental dress; a long, dark coat, with epaulettes, breeches, leather boots, and a feather-adorned hat. There was yet another military-dressed nation in the crowd, someone whose presence surprised Arthur: Ivan. The Russian was garbed in an Imperial Guard uniform that had a Tsarist green greatcoat, epaulettes, dark gloves, and military cap. He was still wearing his scarf, peculiarly enough. Well… at least he wasn't wearing anything soviet, though Arthur noticed that Alfred kept throwing the Russian glaring looks and that Ivan smiled back in a passive-aggressive sort of way. Arthur could only hope he had enough vodka in his system to keep him happy until the party ended. Yao, meanwhile, was chatting amiably with Kiku, wearing a silk robe with many layers, a dragon design embroidered into it wrapping around his body. Kiku, meanwhile, was wearing a traditional samurai suit with armor and an elaborate headdress. The man looked rather small under all of it, but the effect was still intimidating. Then Arthur saw someone he didn't know. A meek-looking blonde man who was hanging about in the corner of the room. He was wearing a long white coat with fur trim, thick mittens, snow boots, and a pair of ski goggles. Hm, that was weird… had he been the only one to notice the man? Arthur was about to go talk to him, as he appeared rather lonely, when there came a series of loud whistles and catcalls coming from the front of the crowd.

"Nice costume, _amigo_! It really gets to the point!"

"You can clean _my _house, kesesese!"

"Perverted Wine Bastard!"

Arthur shouldered his way to the head of the crowd to see what all the fuss was about and he gaped.

Francis was posing in various lewd positions while wearing his extremely skimpy French maid's costume. He had a feather duster, and the skirt was just long enough to cover Francis's vital parts when standing upright. But Francis was not doing so. Instead, he kept moving so that the skirt was pulled up far enough to see the flashy red panties he was wearing along with more of his garter belt. His ruffle headband was adorned with red roses. He seemed to have the maid persona down to a T. He wore tall black pumps that he seemed to get around in rather well (must have taken lessons from Poland) and… had he _waxed_?

Francis caught Arthur's staring and smirked, winking at him. "Like what you see, _amour_?" He cocked his hips just enough to expose his panties again.

Arthur knew he should seriously be disturbed by this, but for some reason, he felt himself growing red in the face. "I should have expected this from you, slimy frog!"

"Ahonhon, so you still came, then? Did you want to see me?" Francis said, flipping his hair.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "In your dreams, France."

Francis leered. "How did you know?"

Arthur reddened further and decided he had better get out of view before anyone suspected something. "Go torment someone else, frog. I'm not in the mood for it."

"Oh, but I can _get _you into the mood, _oui_?" Francis called as Arthur slipped back into the crowd. He arrived at the drinks table and poured himself some more rum, downing it in one gulp. He winced as the alcohol burned his throat all the way to his stomach. He had forbidden himself rum. Whenever he drank it, he seemed to get reckless—or exceedingly more reckless than when he drank other spirits.

And all the while, Francis was posing and winking and doing all the things perverted frogs did. Some pictures were taken. Francis had himself a glass of wine or two and… why the hell was he even thinking about the Frenchman?

He must need more to drink.

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Arthur was as drunk as hell. And he didn't care. He was going around and gathering his crew to go raid some treasure ships!

Arthur's mind was fuzzy and he scarcely remembered what had comprised after every five minutes passed. All he knew was that he was a fucking captain and everyone would listen to him.

Eventually, the party goers got annoyed at Arthur and Alfred had to pull him into the kitchen to consult him.

"Dude, Artie, I think you need some water." And Alfred poured him a glass and handed it to Arthur.

Arthur examined the glass for a while before saying, "Tha's not bloody rum!"

"No, it's not, but bro," Alfred insisted, pushing the glass closer to him. "seriously, have some."

Arthur glared at Alfred and down a few gulps before setting it down and saying. "I'll 'ave ye flogged fer tha'…"

Alfred laughed and patted Arthur on the back. "I'm sure you will, partner. Now drink some more, or I'm not leaving. Can't have you taking a trip to the hospital, can we?"

Arthur snorted, "Guess no'," and drank some more.

When it was all gone, Arthur was feeling a bit more coherent and Alfred, slapped him on the back. "All right, bro, just stop annoying people and maybe I'll keep you from getting into a fight tonight, okay?" And he walked out of the kitchen.

Arthur pushed back his chair and stood, albeit unsteadily, and made his way back out into the living room.

Well, that was just stellar. Now he needed to drink more!

He made it about halfway to the drinks table before he felt his bladder constrict. At this, he hastily made his way toward the bathroom… no, Alfred's bedroom, because there was a bathroom in there that possibly _did not _have piss all over the ceiling or other inconvenient places. Arthur had been to enough bars to know never to use the bathrooms there and being in a house full of drunken men, he definitely _was not _using the nearest bathroom.

He quickly made his way into the room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and then proceeded to piss a gallon. Jesus, how much _had _he drank tonight?

Arthur was too engrossed in relieving himself to notice that the door had opened and someone had slipped in to stand behind him.

When he was finished, Arthur flipped his cock a bit to get the last drops off (hoping that his aim wasn't too bad) and began to zip up when a voice purred, "I could help you with that, _mon cher_."

Arthur stiffened. Even in his drunken state, he still knew how wrong it was for Francis to be standing behind him when he was using the toilet.

He quickly spun around, trying to keep his balance, and glared at the Frenchman as he threw him a lazy wink.

"Get out, perverted frog, before I throttle you like I meant to at the last meeting!"

Francis pouted. "Aw, _mais, mon amour_, I am just worried about the welfare of my _master_." The last word was dripping with lust and he cocked his hips, flashing his scarlet panties again.

Arthur scoffed and zipped himself up. "I'll give you something to worry about." And he turned to leave.

Before he could, though, he felt Francis wrap his arms around Arthur, lips ghosting up the Briton's neck, making the younger man stop and stiffen.

"I did not tell you I was sorry about what happened last meeting."

"Who said I wanted any apology? It would mean nothing coming from a low-life like yourself. Now get off of me!" He squirmed in Francis's arms, but he was too inebriated to break free.

Francis pouted and twirled the feather of Arthur's wide-brimmed hat around a slender finger. "Aw, you are so cruel, _amour_. But of course, you are still angry with me. I could make it up to you some other way. Would you accept it then, _Angleterre_?" Francis's hand snaked down Arthur's body until it cupped Arthur's package through his pants and squeezed.

Arthur jerked in alarm and stumbled away from Francis. He pointed accusingly at him. "You… you stay bloody well away from me!"

Francis stood there, batting his eyelashes innocently. "But I need to make it up to you, _Angleterre_. It's what maids do, _non_? Make their masters happy?" He bent down to adjust his garter and the skirt went up in the back, revealing that not only was he wearing red panties, he was wearing a red _thong_.

Arthur knew he should feel weirded out, but he didn't. At least, not in his drunken state. All he could do for a moment was stare, half in puzzlement, half in arousal. It was certainly an odd feeling.

Francis caught him looking and stood. "Like what you see, _cher_. Do you want more?" Francis wiggled his hips enticingly.

Arthur caught himself and huffed. "Absolutely not, sodding wanker!" Arthur backed up until he reached bed and he stumbled back to sit onto it. Then he suddenly felt overcome with emotion. Stupid rum. "You've done enough!" He felt his eyes sting with tears.

Francis stopped leering and approached him slowly. Oh no, he'd done it again. "Don't cry, _Angleterre_! I did not mean to startle you. If you don't want me to make you feel better, I won't. Just… please don't cry, okay?" It always broke his heart to see Arthur cry, even though the Brit was a tightassed jerk most of the time and equally often deserved it.

"I-I'm not crying, you bloody plonker!" Arthur snapped, wiping his eyes in frustration. Hell, why did Francis always have to humiliate him, and now he was crying in front of him? It was all too much. "Get the fuck out."

Francis was about to respond that this was Alfred's room, so Arthur couldn't tell him to get out at all, but he didn't say anything as he walked over to the bed and sat next to Arthur, looking at him sympathetically.

"I am sorry, _Angleterre_."

"I don't care. Go away."

Francis knew it was a long-shot, but he grabbed Arthur's shoulders and forced the Briton to look at him. Arthur's eyes were red as well as his face. "I am sorry. I should never have done what I did. I will never do it again. I promise."

Arthur seemed to relax and his face mellowed, but just as quickly, he seized up again. He growled and took Francis by both shoulders, pushing him down onto the mattress.

"Fucking frog. I don't believe you, and I never will. This is for what you did last meeting." Arthur reached into his pants and slipped out his semi-hard cock, stroking it before Francis's eyes. It seemed like drinking rum for the first time in centuries had had a strong and strange effect on him. That and seeing Francis parading around all meeting and flashing his assets had already set him on edge.

Not believing his luck, Francis moaned and kicked off his heels, spreading his legs so that his thong was exposed for his rival to see. At the same time he threw his hands over his head, smirking up at Arthur. "Do whatever you want to me, Master. As long as I satisfy you."

Arthur bit his lip at the erotic display, now completely aroused. He didn't care that this was wrong. All he wanted to do was get that sinfully-scarlet thong off of Francis.

Francis sensed his desire and pulled up his skirt, undoing the straps on his garter. "I'm yours, Master."

Arthur didn't care if this was what Francis wanted in the first place. He was too horny to stop now. Without the slightest hesitation, Arthur reached down and hooked his fingers in the elastic of the thong and pulled down slowly, like he was unwrapping a present. Francis moaned as he did so, loving the feel of Arthur's fingers on his skin.

Francis's hard cock sprang up to hit him in the stomach. Arthur felt his own cock swell and was anxious to discard the thong, but ended up getting frustrated and ripped them off. Francis huffed in annoyance as he tossed the now useless garment to the floor. Those were his favorite pair… he'd snatched them on one of his his monthly panty raids.

Arthur scoffed at his reaction. "Oh, don't fret. I'm sure you have more of those."

Francis laughed. "Ahonhon, of course, _Angleterre_."

"I thought I was 'Master'."

Francis's eyes darkened with lust. "Forgive me for my rudeness, _Master_, but could you please stop the small talk and fuck me already?"

Arthur chuckled. "Good thing I don't have my Cat-o-nine-tails with me, or your arse would be raw."

"There are _other _ways to make my ass raw, Master." Francis smirked.

Arthur felt his cock grow hard at the innuendo, and he decided that what he was currently wearing was becoming increasingly suffocating. He moved to remove his coat and breeches when Francis stopped him. "No, master. I like you with the pirate outfit on." _Oh Dieu, no, I _love_ it. _This was the Arthur of his fantasies, the one who pinned him against the shower tile, or a cot on his ship, or a park bench in the evening. Yep, pirate Arthur was someone who he had been dreaming about for a _long_ time.

He couldn't wait much longer. The prospect of what was to come (and just _seeing _Arthur in all of his domineering sexiness) made beads of precum trail down Francis's hard cock. This did not pass by Arthur. The Briton examined the Frenchman's cock with obvious desire, taking it into his hand and giving it a few, deep-fisted pumps.

Francis moaned and bucked his hips into the many-ringed hand. But he didn't mind the roughness of the metal. It actually enhanced the whole experience—Francis had even imagined the feel of the rings on his shaft.

"_Dieu, amour_," Francis groaned. "Please, I want your cock in me." _I've been waiting for it all night… no, for years…_

"In good time, France." Arthur said. "Don't want you to think this isn't punishment for what you did."

Oh, this _was _punishment. The whole night Francis had walked around watching Arthur, half-hard, wanting release but saving it for this moment. The truth was, he could come just from the slightest touch of Arthur's fingers… and if he did that, it might all be over.

He didn't want it to end. But he knew he couldn't last much longer.

"_Please_, Master." Francis begged, reaching his limit. As much as he would have loved a good round of foreplay, he had come to the conclusion that he wouldn't last that long. "Please, fuck me."

At this, Arthur smirked. "I'm not in the least bit surprised, France… you've always been a shameless harlot."

Francis was exasperated as Arthur continued to move slowly, as if cherishing his suffering, warm fingers teasing up the insides of his thighs and moving downward to roll his balls around in his palm. Francis moaned again, lifting his hips to meet those fingers, but he was promptly forced down.

"Not a chance, frog." Arthur half-growled, making Francis's cock twitch. "I'll go as slow as I want. And you'd better not come."

Francis nodded, sticking to his role as the maid as Arthur continued to tease him. The Briton eventually leaned over him, nipping and sucking at Francis's neck while his fingers moved to unzip the corset. Francis groaned, lifting himself up so that Arthur could gain further access to his back. Arthur chuckled against his neck, sending shivers rolling down Francis's spine and heat coursing to his dripping cock, as the Briton successfully unzipped the corset, one hand holding up Francis's back, the other walking his fingers up Francis's milky thighs.

"Hmhm, you're a desperate slut, aren't you?" Arthur laid Francis back down and proceeded to push down his ruffled shirt, exposing his nipples. "But, honestly, what else did I expect?" And he reached up, pinching a rosy nipple with increasing pressure and applying his nail.

Francis's moan turned into a scream, hips lurching upward, arching his back, craving to be closer, wanting to feel the Brit's delicious, hard cock on his hole. "Ah, _Dieu, Maître_!"

Arthur just laughed. "So you like that, hm? I really shouldn't be surprised, though, considering all of your sexual perversions. Or perhaps you just want this a bit too badly?"

He pinched the other nipple and Francis gasped, "Yes, yes, please! I need it, Master!"

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "If only you were this easy to subdue a few centuries ago…" He ran his blunt nails down Francis's chest, making the Frenchman arch.

Francis was breathing heavily now, groaning at every little touch. Goddammit, if only Arthur would fuck him already!

_Well, _Francis thought. _It's time to turn on the waterworks…_

So, mustering up his most adorable virgin (even though he hadn't been a virgin for a _long _while) blush, he forced tears to gather at the corners of his eyes and he blinked up at Arthur desperately. "Please, _amour_."

Arthur seemed to be caught off guard, as Francis could have sworn he saw a flicker of concern pass behind his green eyes before the Brit hiked up Francis's skirt and lifted Francis's trembling legs over his shoulders. "All right, then. Since you asked nicely, I'm going to fuck you good and hard. Just don't blame me if you feel it tomorrow, frog."

Francis immediately stopped crying, elation suffusing his face. "I do not think I would mind very much, Master." _No, I would love it. _Just the thought of feeling the girth of Arthur's cock in him the next day made his own dick leak and he bit his lip to keep in a moan. He threw his arms around Arthur's neck, lifting his hips so that the younger nation would have a better entry angle. He wanted to get the absolute _full_ experience (in more than one sense of the term).

Then a sudden need struck Francis and his hands shot up to latch onto the buttons of Arthur's coat, Arthur's grip on them weakened. The Briton watched him with intrigue as the older nation undid the buttons until he reached his undershirt, which he also began to unbutton. It certainly was a hard task; Francis's hands were shaking with excitement and his arousal made him clumsy. Eventually, Arthur snorted and set to helping him, unbuttoning the rest of his white shirt and exposing his flushed chest as it hung open.

Arthur looked quizzically down at Francis. "I thought you wanted me to keep my costume on?"

"_Oui, amour_." Francis purred, fingers ghosting over Arthur's warm flesh. "But I also want to see your beautiful skin."

Arthur scoffed. "You say that to everyone you sleep with."

"_Oui_," Francis replied. "But I've always thought your skin was beautiful, _Maître_."

Arthur blushed and Francis's thumb and forefinger pinched a rosy nipple, making the Briton emit a gasp that added to his aroused expression. It was a delicious sight.

But Arthur soon got a hold of himself and glared down at Francis. The look was fierce, but erotic all at once, making Francis moan even as his wrists were snatched up and pinned above his head.

"Don't think you'll be getting the better of me, frog." Arthur growled, lining himself up. "You deserve to lie there and take it."

Francis would have responded that he would _love _to take everything Arthur had to give him but for the cock being thrust up his ass.

A long, drawn-out moan escaped him as Arthur sheathed himself fully inside in one go. It was painful, but Francis was accustomed to it and he adjusted quickly, enjoying the feel of the Briton's cock in him at long last.

Francis couldn't help but smirk. _Oh, you think you've got me, amour, but the truth is, I have finally got _you_…_

Arthur caught his expression and pulled out. "I'll wipe that smirk off your face, slimy frog." He slammed back in.

Francis arched, giving a startled shout at the rough entry but enjoying it nonetheless. Any way was a good way in Francis's book—and if Arthur was the one fucking him, he would like it whichever way the Briton saw fit to utilize.

The pace was set—hard and fast. It was clear that this was Arthur's favored fuck choice, as the Briton was soon grunting and panting along with Francis every time he drove his rod home, balls slapping against Francis's ass.

"Yes, yes, Master!" Francis moaned, hips lifting to meet his every thrust. "Oh, _Dieu_, you feel so good~!"

Arthur grunted in response, concentrating too much on thrusting. Well, mostly it was focusing on not coming early. His drunken state made him hypersensitive, unable to control his urges, and he hadn't expected Francis's arse to be so tight.

Honestly, who would?

Arthur angled his hips, driving into Francis at different points, searching for that one spot. Hell, he knew the frog rightfully didn't deserve to receive any arousal from this. But it was obvious that the Frenchman was enjoying this and he frankly didn't want the older nation chasing after him for the rest of the party just so Arthur could get him off.

Might as well do it now than later, he figured, which was highly unlikely if he was sober. The fact was, Arthur was still incredibly pissed at Francis for revealing what he had, and a combination of anger, arousal, and, yes, the maid's costume had led to this.

It had to be lust. Yes, just lust.

Francis's mind was a mess right now. Just fathoming the fact that Arthur was fucking him senseless (in his pirate wear at that) was consuming his mind along with the pleasure he was deriving from it. Francis had wanted this for so long, and now that it was finally being given to him was completely mind-blowing and the stuff of his wildest fantasies.

He looked up at Arthur, pleading with his eyes, feeling that something was missing that he so desperately needed. "Please, Master. M-may I touch you?"

Arthur nearly broke in his thrusts from the beg—God, he had never heard Francis's voice quite so weak-toned and imploring. It was enough to make Arthur give into the Frenchman's demand and release his hands from above his head, feeling them ghost over his sweat-slick skin and tweak his nipples.

Just when Arthur was wondering if he had made the wrong decision, his cock pressed against that pleasure-inducing bundle of nerves.

At this, Francis dug his nails into Arthur's chest, arching, screaming with arousal. Alarmed that he would attract unwanted attention (and definitely not wanting to be seen fucking the frog lest he be endlessly questioned and ridiculed), Arthur lunged forward and buried his tongue in Francis's hot mouth. His true intention was to quell the scream (which he indeed did), but in truth he kissed Francis deeply for longer than was required, liking the feel of the Frenchman's tongue sliding against his own.

When he pulled away, Francis was staring at him in astonishment and arousal. To keep his pride intact, Arthur dipped to run his tongue along Francis's smooth neck.

"Be quiet, wench. You're going to attract some unwanted guests…" He sucked at a place just below Francis's ear.

"_Au contraire, amour_," Francis mewled, squirming against Arthur as he ravished his neck with lips, tongue, and teeth. "I would not mind that."

Arthur chuckled against him, causing shivers to roll down his back and right to his leaking cock. "Of course you wouldn't."

Arthur sat up and picked up his pace once more, this time thrusting so that Francis's prostate was relentlessly attacked. Francis gasped, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck and pulling him in so that the Briton held himself on his elbows, lips against the Frenchman's neck. "You're such a fucking slut, France. Coming here in this dainty thing… bloody tease." Arthur's breath was hot on his neck as he continued to plow into him.

Francis couldn't respond—he was too busy moaning and moving his hips in sync with Arthur's hard thrusts. He felt his climax approaching: a pooling of pressure in his abdomen and heat creeping up his cock.

"Yes, England!" Francis cried as he spurted shot after molten shot of cum, covering both of their stomachs and leaving him trembling, his orgasm prolonged by the constant pressing of his prostate.

Arthur thrust deep inside of Francis, determined to have the frog running with his essence for days, coming with a groan, moving his cock in short thrusts with every shot of hot cum. And Francis's arse flexed and squeezed around him, milking him. "France…"

Francis's felt warmth gather in his chest as he heard his name tumble quietly from the Briton's lips. And all at once, Arthur seemed to realize his mistake, lifting himself to look at Francis to confirm that the Frenchman had heard him, which they both knew was true.

Just as the Brit was coming up with a snappy comeback, the door to the room opened and both looked in shock at Alfred who was entering the room, saying, "Hey, Igs~! You in here, bro? Spain's drunk and wants to duel y—WHATTHEEVERLOVINGFUCK?!" Alfred's mouth dropped open as he regarded the two men in a painfully compromising position across the room. "Dude, gross! You had sex in my bed!"

Arthur blanched considerably before quickly backing himself off of Francis, extracting his wet cock and hastily stuffing it back into his trousers—even though it was already obvious what they had been doing. Francis, meanwhile, just leered, not moving at all, winking as he said, "_Oui, Amerique_, and it was quite comfortable."

Arthur gave Francis a dangerous look, but the Frenchman just shrugged as if to say 'Well, he's already seen'.

To keep his pride intact, Arthur snorted and said, "Oh, don't tell me that Russia hasn't been fucking you on this bed."

"No!" Alfred made a disgusted face. "Then I'd have to clean it all up!" More quietly, he added, "We do it in the guest room…"

"You mean to tell me that I've slept in the same bed you two shagged in?!" Arthur exclaimed with a horrified look.

Alfred huffed and changed the subject, his blush giving away the answer to Arthur's question. "Strip the bed and get out of my room. Go fuck at your hotel rooms or something, jeez!"

"Fine, fine, git!" Arthur snapped as he sat up and began buttoning his shirt. "We'll take care of the bloody sheets."

"Ew, you got _blood _them?"

"Get!"

"Fine," Alfred growled and began to close the door. "But I'm not giving you rum when you're in my house anymore. Makes you fucking batshit crazy." The door shut with an audible _click_.

They didn't speak until they heard the receding footsteps fade. Arthur dropped onto his back on the bed and groaned, "Look what you've fucking done, slimy frog." Great. Everyone knew just how much Alfred loved to talk. This was sure to get out as soon as they both left the room.

Francis chuckled and turned to face him, skirt still obscenely hiked up and corset zipped down, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Do not say that, _amour_." he purred, stroking his fingers across Arthur's flushed face. "I will not let them ridicule you. In fact, I will be sure to compliment you on your bedroom skills." He winked.

Arthur's gaze snapped from watching his cum leaking from Francis's arse to the Frenchman's leering face. "You will say nothing of this." he said through gritted teeth.

Francis sighed hopelessly. They both knew that if Francis didn't, the rest of the nations would still eventually find out. "Very well, _cher_." He moved closer to Arthur, encouraged by the fact that the Briton didn't move away in response. "I am sorry for what I did last meeting and all the meetings before. I hadn't realized I had hurt you. I will not do it again… _if_," Francis smirked and Arthur let out another despairing groan. "you promise me a second round."

Instead of glaring like Arthur knew he ought to, the Briton gave a small smile. He truly did feel like he was being appreciated—he hadn't felt that in a long while, and coming from Francis, the one who had opposed him for centuries, it was all the more meaningful.

So, Arthur leaned in and surprised Francis by pecking him on the lips. The Frenchman kissed back and tongues began to delve and explore, the situation quickly becoming heated. But Arthur knew that they would both be better off if they managed to slip back off to one of their hotel rooms (okay, _his_ hotel room; he didn't know what things Francis had brought with him along with his maid's costume and he didn't really want to find out) and start their romp there.

_Listen to me, _Arthur said, mentally shaking his head at himself. _Wanting to go to a hotel room with France… the world has really turned upside down._

Regretfully, Arthur ended the kiss, smirking when Francis whined from loss of contact. "Don't worry, love. You will get more soon." He backed himself off of the bed and examined it. Pillows were scattered, sheets were tousled, covered in semen along with his and Francis's costumes.

Well, they certainly did make quite the mess.

"Get up, git, and help me."

They worked together to take the sheets off the bed and pile them in a corner of the room, organizing the pillows on the bed in their original (or close-to-original) positions. When they were finished, Arthur buttoned up his coat and adjusted his sash so that it covered the cum-stained part of his costume. Francis, meanwhile, was not so lucky with his apparel.

The Frenchman looked at what used to be his (or rather something that he'd stolen to be his) red thong discarded on the floor and frowned. "Euh… _Angleterre_, I do not have any underwear…" He struggled to pull his skirt down but to no avail.

Arthur laughed and came up behind him, whispering in his ear, "Don't worry, love. They won't mind. I'm sure they've all seen more than that from you in their lifetimes. Besides," The Briton gave Francis's arse a squeeze. "I wouldn't mind a quick grab on our ride home."

Francis moaned as he was teased, imagining what it would be like in the back of a taxi. Not romantic at all, but certainly thrilling. The driver would be getting quite the show if Arthur proved to be as bold as Francis had always known him to be.

The image remained in Francis's mind as they exited the room, one hand gently cupping one of his ass cheeks on the way out. And the Frenchman couldn't help but smile even as he was being so obviously groped walking through the crowd of nations and to the front door, Arthur even stopping for a few minutes to say his goodbyes, which they both knew was just to show off Arthur's newest French asset.

But Francis didn't mind. He had wanted this forever, and he didn't mind a little exhibitionism every once in a while (or rather more than usual).

They flagged down a cab (which was easy, considering the driver thought Francis was a prostitute anyway, which in fact wasn't far from the mark on the cabbie's part), Arthur ushering him in and telling the driver where to go. As soon as they pulled out of the neighborhood, Francis felt Arthur's hand on his bare thigh, squeezing and moving upward. Francis looked up, mirroring Arthur's smirk.

Oh, yes. This was going to be fun.

**The End**

* * *

(1)-Referring to Buffalo, New York.

A Word From the Writer: I'm sorry, I suck at pirate speak. I had look it up. *headdesk* Anywho, I randomly got this idea while sitting in class and pondering what would happen if France was to show up in a maid's costume… and it just progressed from there. I know it's wrong, but this shit keeps me awake in class! Besides, it entertains. So, don't judge me! *sits in emo corner*

So, what do you think it was: a trick or a tease? France has some mad skills when it comes to seduction. Yes, I do have a life, I don't just sit on my computer through holidays and write smut… besides, this is _way _better than candy! XD


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